


Better with You

by Leandra



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Arthur has a case of pesky feelings, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Glompfest, M/M, Merlin is a Little Shit, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leandra/pseuds/Leandra
Summary: Arthur is having a terrible day full of bad news, misfortune and a mouthy and irritating manservant. Strangely enough, it’s a rather surprising altercation with said irritating manservant that turns the day around and soon, Arthur is convinced that having Merlin in his bed is the remedy to cure all his horrible days…Written for mega_mathi for her prompt: Manservant with Benefits.The story definitely has “lots and lots of sex” with “no feelings” (yeah, right!), but I couldn’t fit Jealous Arthur in. I hope you still enjoy it,  mathi!
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 448
Collections: Merthur Glompfest 2020





	Better with You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mega_mathi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mega_mathi/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [mega_mathi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mega_mathi/pseuds/mega_mathi) in the [Merthur_Glompfest_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merthur_Glompfest_2020) collection. 



> Thank you, loveliest wife **raina_at** , who makes everything in my life better, in this case by betaing my fic!
> 
>  **mega_mathi** : I hope you're enjoying your glompfest-fic, even if it's not entirely what you ordered! Thank you so much for your prompt, I had a blast writing this!

Arthur had had a bad day. It had started with his couriers returning from the Northern borders with reports of droughts and famine, then he had learned of an outbreak of a mysterious fever in the lower town that mostly targeted children and old people and killed off one in five He had also suffered a series of small, unfortunate personal events throughout the day: His morning started with knocking over his night pan, ripping his favourite tunic while getting dressed and tripping down the staircase on his way to the throne room, resulting in a sprained ankle. The later three were directly or indirectly things he could rightfully blame his manservant for: the pan had been placed by his bedside rather haphazardly, the shirt scrubbed and laundered to an inch of its life so the seams ripped at the slightest provocation and the tumble down the stairs was an immediate result of Merlin distracting Arthur with meaningless chatter. 

To make matters worse, Arthur had run into Guinevere and Lancelot after a particularly discouraging meeting with his patrol. Seeing Gwen and the newly returned Lancelot together, laughing and flirting nonetheless, never failed to make him miserable, regardless that he himself had given Lancelot free reinto pursue Gwen. Their pre-marital bliss stung, because for quite a while he had been confident that he would be the one to make Gwen happy and put that sweet, soft smile on her face, but while she clearly liked him, maybe even loved him in a way, her feelings towards him seemed nothing compared to how she practically lit up the moment Lancelot entered a room. Witnessing her joy only emphasised the lack of romance in his own life, and he felt decidedly unloved. 

Understandably, once Arthur had returned to his chambers, he felt like he was going to jump out of his skin with irritation and anger and misery. The thought occurred to take Merlin outside onto the training field and force him into armour, just so he could bodily vent his frustration on his rather irritating manservant. The idea of harassing Merlin until he was just as scowly and irritable as Arthur himself was delightful and instantly brightened his gloomy mood. Why should he suffer alone when he could inflict misery on someone who recently seemed to bother him even more than usual? Lately, he and Merlin were constantly quarrelling and barely a conversation went by in which they didn’t trade increasingly nasty barbs with each other. Taking it out on Merlin seemed like the perfect remedy to better his day. 

With that idea in mind, Arthur spun around to face his manservant, already unclasping the impractical red robe he usually wore when doing state business. “Prepare my armour-” he started, only to be interrupted by Merlin knocking the wind out of him as he smacked into him, too closely following on his heels to apparently anticipate that Arthur would just stop and turn on the spot.

The plate and pitcher with water Merlin was carrying went flying, the pitcher’s contents dousing them both with cool water, Arthur’s afternoon meal scattered on the stone floor around them. Arthur spared a moment to mourn the fact that his favourite sweet bread was now a soaked heap of raisins and soggy dough, then sucked in a breath to make up for the one he lost in the impact of Merlin colliding with him. 

“Oh come on,” Merlin spluttered angrily, wiping water from his face with the sleeve of his tunic. “What did you do that for, clotpole? Now I have to go down to the kitchen again and get you another meal.”

“It’s not my fault you’re such a clumsy oaf!” Arthur hissed, riled further by Merlin’s trademark pissy glare as he pulled at his soaked tunic, grimacing at the sensation of wet fabric clinging to his belly. “Look what you've done, you idiot,” he spat, indicating the state of his dress. 

“As if my day hasn’t been bad enough without you making it extra difficult,” Merlin muttered without any respect for Arthur’s station or their official relationship, glowering as if spilling his meal on the floor was indeed Arthur’s fault. 

“Oh, seriously, _your_ day?” Arthur growled, then added, “And you would do good to remember who I am and address me accordingly!” The insubordination of that man! 

There was a displeased sulk pulling on the edges of Merlin’s mouth and Arthur just knew he was going to say something even more insolent by the way his nose was twitching slightly and his blue eyes were blazing. 

“I remember who you are,” Merlin said mulishly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. A huge damp spot was forming on his shoulder and kept growing wetter as water dripped from his hair. “You’re an insufferable prat, always have been, always will be.” 

“And you are the worst servant that ever served and not fit for a prince! I do not know why I put up with you!” Arthur snarled, a part of him grateful for the ensuing, inevitable fight. He took a step forward that should have been threatening in theory, only Merlin, the idiot, didn’t budge, instead glared daggers at Arthur, raising his chin stubbornly. 

“Because everyone else would run for the hills! Mer _lin_ , this, Mer _lin_ that! Mer _lin_ , polish my three pairs of boots, don’t mind that I only wear one constantly, I want all of them polished! Merlin, bring up water for a bath - Oh, bother, I’m too tired anyway, I’m just going to fall into bed all sweaty and dirty so you have to do my laundry tomorrow! Oh, the things I put up with in your service!” Merlin burst out, his numerous and wordy complaints making Arthur blink for a moment.

“I should rightfully put you into the stocks for that!” he said sharply after having recovered from Merlin’s uncharacteristically lengthy hissy fit.

“I prefer being pelted with fruit to having to wait on your irritating royal ass!” Merlin shot back, his scowl so severe, it drew his brows together and produced a spectacular frown line at the bridge of his nose. 

Later, Arthur didn’t know who pushed first, but a moment after Merlin hauled the latest insult at him they were grappling with each other like little boys in the marketplace fighting over the last apple from the vendors and surely, this was completely beneath Arthur and a very unknightly thing to do, but he couldn’t help himself. Merlin was shoving back, astonishing strength in his thin arms, and then they were rolling around on the floor, grunting and sweating, each of them trying to get the upper hand. 

One of Merlin’s bony elbows connected with his side, and Arthur moaned out a pained grunt, and their tussle came to a halt, Merlin sprawled on top of him, their faces inches from each other as they panted out their exertion. Merlin’s warm breath was gusting over his cheeks in little puffs and he was still scowling at him fiercely. 

“You… make...me...so...angry…,” he said through clenched teeth, and yes, Arthur could see that, in the tense set of Merlin’s mouth and his dark eyes. Everything about him was radiating anger, his body rigid with it. 

Arthur grabbed for him, or maybe Merlin reached for him, but however _that_ happened, it ended with Arthur’s fingers curled into Merlin’s thick hair and Merlin’s hands on Arthur’s cheek and their lips smashed together. Merlin’s kiss was biting and hard, still fuelled by his fury, but after a moment of gnashing teeth, he soothed the sting by slipping his tongue between Arthur’s open lips and the wet, warm invasion of his mouth made Arthur’s toes curl in his boots and his legs jerk, because it felt good and Merlin tasted irresistible. 

He spared a moment to be annoyed about that, but ultimately decided to meet Merlin’s dedication to the task at hand with upping the challenge, so he angled his head to the side and sucked on Merlin’s bottom lip and with a swift movement, used his larger bulk to his advantage and rolled them over, reversing their positions and effectively trapping Merlin underneath him. 

And this was good, too, grounding his hips down and watching the way Merlin’s eyes fell closed, a small, hiccuping gasp spilling from his parted lips. He hadn’t ever noticed how nice Merlin’s lips were, full and soft-looking, and Arthur dipped his head and took them again. 

What happened next was a bit of a blur to Arthur, but there were more kisses - definitely more kisses, filthy and desperate - and clothes went missing with frightening rapidity, somehow ending up scattered around them. Merlin was making the most wonderful sounds, small moans and panting grunts, interspersed by the occasional insult which Arthur couldn’t be bothered about, and all the while his hands were possessive on Arthur, his fingers grabbing and stroking and invading, first his mouth, then - shockingly so - the pucker of his arse. 

“You brilliant fucking bastard,” Arthur muttered with flustered appreciation and shoved their cocks together, clenching his finger around the intrusion of the single digit probing at his most intimate part. 

“You’re still a dollophead,” Merlin whined hoarsely, thrusting up with his hips one last time, before spilling messily and warm between them on a long-drawn, impossibly dirty moan, his release pooling between their bodies, making everything slippery. Arthur’s eyes nearly crossed as he followed suit, adding to the mess, before he rolled to the side and onto his back, Merlin’s finger having slipped from his body somewhere between Merlin’s and his release. 

He lay panting, his eyes closed, feeling wrung out and disgusting and sleepy. Now that he was sated, the hard stone floor he was lying on didn’t seem so comfortable anymore. Next to him, Merlin’s breath came fast and deep, and he listened to the sound until it started to even out and match his own. 

“Well,...” Merlin said, sounding slightly non-plussed, “that was new.” 

Arthur felt like he needed to regain his dignity, so he pushed himself up, wincing at the pull of bruises over sore muscles. His body was affected as if after an especially taxing tournament, but also strangely refreshed and full of energy. So maybe more like a tournament he had won. Hah. The thought made him feel pleased and he got to his feet, offering a hand to help Merlin to his feet. Merlin wrinkled his nose at him in a confused manner, but took his hand after brief consideration and allowed himself to be hauled up. They both grimaced at the state of Merlin’s chest and belly and Merlin, who was still wearing his neckerchief as the single item that had withstood their mutual undressing, undid the knot and used the red fabric to wipe himself down. 

Arthur collected his clothes and vanished behind his screen to get dressed. The silence was a bit awkward and he listened to Merlin shuffle around, most likely getting dressed himself, but his bad mood had lifted and he couldn’t be bothered to feel bad about what happened, not if it made him feel so good afterwards. 

Finally, Merlin cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you need, my lord.” It was carefully voiced to be not a question. 

With much effort, Arthur ignored the implications and the ludicrousness of the statement. “No. Have the rest of your day off,” he heard himself say, and for a moment was surprised at his own words. But yes, he found that he was in such a good mood that he felt generous and didn’t want to send Merlin around on another errand. 

“If this is going to be awkward…” Merlin started hesitantly and trailed off, clearly at a loss for words. Arthur dipped his head around the folding-screen, almost laughing at the bedraggled state his servant was in. Merlin looked like someone had rolled him outside the tavern - his hair sticking up in wild tufts, his tunic rumpled, his usually pale face becomingly flushed, lips red and swollen. Remarkably enough, Arthur felt really satisfied about the fact that he was the one who had put Merlin in such a state. 

“No,” he said, smiling, because the sight of Merlin increased his mood even further. “Unless you think it’s going to be.” 

Merlin was quick to shake his head, but looked puzzled. “You never give me a day off.” 

“Exploit my benevolence for once,” Arthur suggested, stepping out from behind the screen and reattaching his belt to his waist. 

“What benevolence,” Merlin muttered under his breath with a roll of his eyes, but Arthur decided to let it slide and Merlin, obviously coming to the conclusion that he shouldn’t further question Arthur’s motives, started to pick up the pitcher and plate that started it all and made for the door. “I’ll make someone bring you another sweet bread,” he said, before leaving the room, looking still a bit confused, but in a hurry to leave, so as not to let Arthur regret his decision. 

Once the door closed behind him, Arthur exhaled a sigh, finding that his earlier irritation was blown away. It was a good day. Maybe he would still have that training session with his knights before sundown. 

*-* 

As awful as Merlin’s day had started - and Arthur’s irritation had a huge part to play in it - , it was turning out to be absolutely pleasant after he left Arthur’s chambers. Just because Arthur had given him the day off - a completely outlandish notion that Merlin really didn’t want to look into more closely - it didn’t mean that there weren’t any chores left to be done. There was always work waiting for him back in Gaius’ chambers. 

Strangely enough, the cleaning of the leech tank went by swimmingly and not one of the little suckers were able to attach to his skin. Afterwards, he brewed one of Gaius’ elixirs to help with migraines using betony and chamomile, and he managed not to mess it up or burn it. The potion was the perfect shade of greenish yellow and it smelled just right. Satisfied, Merlin took his satchel and ventured out into the grounds to pick wild nettles. He knew of a batch that grew behind the outer walls, and surely enough, he found enough to fill up their replenished stores, collecting them without once blistering his hands. 

The walk back towards the castle was pleasant. The weather was perfect, sunny but not too hot, and Merlin’s body felt loose and limber and strong. Everything he had achieved over the last hours had been an unmitigated success. On most days he felt like his chores would never end and he was much too tired in the evenings to accomplish anything else he wanted to have done. Not so today. There was still enough time left to practice the spells he was working on before dinner. 

When he walked by the training grounds, Arthur was bossing around his knights with a huge grin on his face, the smile making his face boyish and unperturbed by the usual sorrows. Arthur’s movements were skillful and he glided through the motions fluidly, powerful like some ancient warrior god. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat and his face was flushed, his smile and good mood so infectious, that even Percival, who had been put on his ass by a mighty blow of Arthur’s sword, was grinning along. The mood was jovial and Gwaine gave Merlin a cheery wave when he passed, looking exalted and happy. 

Merlin felt his mouth tug up in a smile as well, and he gave a wave back, catching Arthur’s eyes as he did so. He blushed when Arthur looked at him and bit his lip, remembering earlier this afternoon when they had rolled around on Arthur’s floor in what clearly was a very ill-advised way to handle an argument. Seriously, what had _that_ been about? Clearly, Merlin had been so angry that he had lost his mind, because not only had he kissed Arthur, but also put his hands on the prince in ways that would surely get him executed for treason if Uther ever found out. 

In his mind’s eyes he replayed the image of Arthur’s kiss-swollen lips and slack face when he lost it and Merlin’s heart missed a beat, all of his blood rushing south as he recalled the heavy shudder of Arthur’s body atop his own. 

On the field, Arthur gave a short wave, something intense and intimate in his gaze, before he turned with a last twitch of his lips and commenced to beat the shit out of Elyan. 

Merlin ducked his head, cursing how Arthur’s grin made him feel a bit weak-kneed (and having sudden and new urges to find Arthur alone and push him up against a wall), and started walking back towards the castle, willing his arousal to go down. His feelings for Arthur weren’t a mystery for Merlin and nothing new either, but he had never thought anything would come from it. Arthur was still a prince and his master, so it wouldn’t happen again. 

With that in mind, he went back towards Gaius’ chambers, hung up the nettles for drying and then retreated to his room to practice spell work. He mastered every single one of the five spells that had eluded him for weeks now and managed to perform two more he hadn’t yet attempted to even try. 

When he finally emerged from his chambers, rumpled and tired but satisfied, the lovely smell of roasted meat and fragrant herbs saturated the air. 

“I made your favourite,” Gaius greeted him, lifting a cauldron with dark-brown stew from the hearth and carrying it over towards their table. 

“Lamb,” Merlin said around a moan, smelling the air like a dog, not caring that he sounded greedy, following him quickly. 

“Sit, sit,” Gaius told him, clearly elated by Merlin’s hearty reaction. 

Merlin slid onto his bench, his stomach rumbling embarrassingly, spurned on by the meaty fragrance permeating the air. 

They shared a pleasant meal and Merlin had a second and then a third helping, before sinking down onto the table with his head cradled in his arms, his belly pleasantly full, feeling stuffed like the birds that were sometimes served at the high table, their insides filled with bread and minced meat and herbs. 

“Best. Day. Ever,” he sighed, feeling sleepy and happy. 

*-* 

It was the worst day ever, of that, Arthur was quite sure. It had started with him having nearly missed a meeting with his father, because Merlin had been late in rousing him, storming into his chambers bleary eyed and looking hungover. Arthur had been so startled by Merlin’s noisy approach and banging of doors, that he promptly tumbled out of bed and hit his hip on the stone floor, then had proceeded to stumble into a candelabra as he hopped around in pain. 

He had arrived at the meeting terribly late, for which he was reprimanded quite sharply by his father in front of his father’s advisors, who all looked upon him - and his rather rumpled and hastily dressed appearance - with matching disapproving and austere faces. The meeting brought bad news from the town - more townsfolk had succumbed to the fever and another three had died last night. His father had dispatched Gaius to see to the sick and try and prevent the spread of the disease. 

He was unnaturally clumsy all during training and he blamed it on his injured hip, where a dark bruise the size of a man’s fist was blossoming. His hip twinged with every movement and the muscle in his leg felt weak and sore. His footwork was terrible and Gwaine managed to put him on his arse three times. 

At supper, a kitchen maid spilled hot pottage on him and when he went to the stables in the afternoon, his favourite horse wasn’t fit for a ride, because she had been stung by a bee earlier that day and her hindfoot was swollen and tender. Frustrated that nothing had been done to treat the horse so far, Arthur ordered the stable boy to run for a salve to put on the horse’s hindfoot and went into the tack room himself to instead get the saddle of Diana, his hunting mare. 

Angry and out of sight of anyone else, he allowed himself to lose his temper and kicked a ball of hay, only to step onto a rake and have it smack harshly into his face. With a cry he reached for his head, cradling his skull in his hands, wincing at the way his face was smarting with pain. 

“Sire, are you alright?” a hesitant voice came from behind him, and he spun around to see Merlin stand in the doorway, holding a water skin, a frown on his face as he watched Arthur wipe away a trickle of blood from his forehead.

“No,” Arthur growled, scowling at the blood on his fingers, before brushing off his hand on his breeches. “I fell out of bed, I got my ass handed to me in training, someone spilled hot soup over my lap and I just stepped on a rake and it’s only past noon. I’m not alright.” 

He glared, then glared some more when Merlin’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh. 

“You’re laughing,” Arthur accused him with narrowed eyes, feeling confirmed when Merlin bit his lip and shook his head, looking a little panicked. “You’re laughing at me!” 

Merlin sucked in a small breath before it burst out of him, first a chuckle, then full-blown laughter. He clasped his hand over his mouth in horror, his shoulders still shaking uncontrollably. Usually, Arthur enjoyed Merlin’s laughter, but right now, directed at himself and not laughing with him, it was the most annoying thing he had ever listened to. 

“Stop laughing!” Arthur groused, advancing on his manservant, who was squirming with holding in his hilarity. 

Merlin burst out with another bout of laughter, then said quickly, desperately. “I’m sorry. It’s only... I had such a horrible day! Truly bad. Spectacularly bad. And you…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter, convulsing and clutching his belly, the water skin dropping from his hands. 

Arthur didn’t find it at all hilarious and most of all, he wanted Merlin to shut up about his misfortune, so he reached out, wound his fingers into Merlin’s hair and did the first thing that came to mind. 

It worked. Merlin’s laughter petered out into a startled and rather pleased moan and he crowded forward, meeting Arthur’s mouth almost desperately. The kiss was hot and hard and sent heat straight towards Arthur’s dick and he couldn’t comprehend how it could be so, so good, because Merlin surely was irritating. They broke apart, staring at each other wide-eyed, panting. Merlin’s hair was mussed, and he licked his wet lips, his gaze dropping from Arthur’s eyes towards his mouth. 

Arthur surged forward again and Merlin must have moved as well, because they crashed into each other somewhere in the middle, and then Arthur’s back collided with the wall rather painfully, but the didn’t mind, because Merlin was biting at his mouth, then his neck, his fingers roaming underneath Arthur’s tunic, sliding over skin and bone, dipping into the waistband of his breeches. 

“Fuck, yes,” Arthur ground out, and was a little surprised but uncomplaining, when Merlin decided to take his words literally. 

*-* 

Straw was poking rather intimate parts of Merlin’s body, but he couldn’t be bothered. He was lying flat on his back with his arms and legs flung out, his heart rate slowly returning to normal, his panting breaths slowing. He huffed out a satisfied sigh, his face heating as he looked around, wondering whether he would ever be able to saddle a horse again without thinking about what they had done and where. Over by the wall, where he had taken Arthur standing up with the use of conveniently available saddle oil, their coupling making the wooden partition sway and rattle, Arthur cursing and crying out on every thrust. The saddle racks, where Arthur had bent him over in retaliation, sucking bruises in his neck while he fucked him. Merlin was sure his fingers had dug permanent grooves into one of the saddles as he held on. 

Finally, they had collapsed onto the floor, and Merlin thought, that was it, because he was boneless and wrung out and his knees were trembling, but then Arthur had pulled him close again for another kiss and Merlin’s body signaled that it had neither need for a rest nor for this to end, so they fucked again, slower this time. Arthur was arching underneath him, clutching his hip bones, letting Merlin dictate the rhythm with the swivel and cant of his hips, and he looked so good with his head thrown back and straw wound in his hair that Merlin kept his eyes open all through Arthur’s release, only riding out his pleasure after Arthur was done. 

Which brought them to now and the fact that Arthur hadn’t said a single word since the rather spectacular cursing he had been doing when he came. Merlin figured that at some point they needed to get up, because it was a sheer miracle that nobody had found them yet. There was also the possibility that they had been so loud as to alert everyone not deaf that it would be advisable to stay away from the tack room. The thought made Merlin blush and wince, because, Gods, _someone_ probably had heard them. 

“We should…” Arthur finally said and started to move and Merlin agreed wholeheartedly, because nobody could find them like this, naked and sweaty and clearly post-coital in the hay. They both got to their feet unsteadily and Merlin winced at the wet trickle down the inside of his thighs, but figured he really didn’t feel like rubbing himself down with itchy straw, so he said and did nothing, but pulled up his breeches, resigning himself to doing the laundry later tonight. 

They dressed in silence, having an awkward moment when their tunics got mixed up, before they both were fully dressed again. Arthur smoothed down his spiky hair and pulled at his clothes, attempting but failing to look somewhat presentable. There was a rather prominent love bite at the side of his neck, and Merlin flushed just looking at it, remembering how he had stifled his scream there when he came. 

“I … uhm… I …” Arthur stuttered, his ears reddening, looking at him helplessly for a moment, before he seemed to forsake words all together and instead gave Merlin a rather desperate once-over, before practically fleeing the scene, his boots sounding a hasty retreat on the dirt-packed floor outside. 

Merlin sighed, kicked at the rushes on the floor so they didn’t look so trampled, picked up the water skin and waited for a bit, before venturing out into the stables himself. He walked slowly along the row of horses - mostly because he already felt sore and his breeches stuck uncomfortably to certain parts of his anatomy - and quietly ducked out of the stables. Outside, one of the teenaged stable boys was rubbing down a white mare, and Merlin flinched underneath his inquiring gaze, wondering how fast the rumour-mongering would spread. 

Merlin decided that casualness was his best defense and he met the boy’s gaze with a carefully neutral expression. Nobody in their right mind would believe what had happened in the stables anyway. Merlin could hardly believe it himself. 

*_* 

For the next two days, Arthur’s life was simply perfect. Ever since he had stumbled, sore but sated, out of the stables into the warm, sunny afternoon following his and Merlin’s tumble in the hay - and so what if it had been several tumbles? - good fortune seemed to befall him wherever he went. 

He had returned to the castle to good news from the North where rain had finally set in. Dinner with father and Morgana had been surprisingly enjoyable. Next day’s meeting with a delegation from North Umbria, a meeting he had been dreading because he would need to make nice with the North Umbrian Prince, who was a complete clot, was indefinitely postponed because the Prince had fallen from his horse on the journey to Camelot and broken his leg. 

The day after had been equally pleasant. Gaius had been able to treat the sick children and lower their high fever with a potion of willowbark and yarrow and put the concerned families under quarantine. Having gotten out of the meeting with North Umbria, Arthur had the day off and decided to go on a hunt for wild boars together with his knights. It was a wonderful late spring day, the weather was beautiful and their hunt was more than successful. They returned to the castle in the early evening with three hogs trussed up between their horses - a feast to be prepared the following evening. 

Merlin had drawn him a bath scented with rosemary when he returned from the stables. The bathwater had the perfect temperature. In Arthur’s absence, Merlin had efficiently polished his armour, mended his socks and made up his bed with fresh linens. At dinner he served without spilling anything and he was being unusually attentive in refilling Arthur’s cup. 

The only thing that tainted Arthur’s perfect day was the strange awkwardness between him and Merlin whenever they were alone, but that was probably something that couldn’t be helped. He could barely look at his manservant without remembering Merlin’s body rising and falling above him, watching Merlin’s blissed-out face and the way his strong fingers pulled at his really very beautiful cock. Usually, that was when Arthur then remembered having that cock in him, and the way Merlin had made him cry out with every thrust and he shifted in his seat, feeling the strong urge to grab Merlin by the hand and pull him somewhere where they could be alone, so Merlin could do it again. It was a ridiculous thought and completely unsuitable for a prince. 

When Merlin finally had left for the night after a rather awkward succession of furtive glances where they both pretended they hadn’t just stared at the other and Merlin had been unable to meet Arthur’s eye without something slipping from his fingers, Arthur crawled into bed, fully intending to sleep. Only when he lay down, the images resurfaced and with it came the sounds, Merlin’s panting moans and the slap of their bodies, and Arthur had to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. It was annoying and completely inappropriate and even while he was finishing, remembering the perfect clenching heat of Merlin’s arse and spilling into a small cloth of which he kept a clean one underneath his pillow for just this reason he berated himself for being that affected. Merlin was his manservant, there were plenty of other, less complicated and less mouthy pleasures to be found if one knew where to look. 

He woke in the morning with a headache and his day only went downhill from there. He failed to fulfill one of his father’s orders to satisfaction and got reprimanded. A woman was executed for murder of her husband in the courtyard - she bore the bruises of his abuse even as she ascended the scaffolds with her head held defiantly high - and there was nothing Arthur said that swayed his father’s jurisdiction. “You tiny, tiny men,” the woman had said mockingly and directed at Uther. “How scared you are, when women defend themselves.” 

He got into a fight with Morgana over this, who claimed that he hadn’t done his utmost to prevent the execution. Sadly enough, what she accused him of was the very thing he blamed himself for. Merlin, who was clearly having a bad day himself, was snappish and insolent and even clumsier than usual, pinching Arthur’s skin by accident when he helped him into his training armour and dropping his washing bowl on the way outside, spilling dirty water all over the floor. 

Arthur injured himself during training, still thinking about the way the woman had looked when standing on the scaffold and facing the king - not scared, not desperate, but proud, her eyes blazing. He was distracted for just a moment, and only evaded Gwaine’s blunt training sword connecting with the side of his head by twisting his upper body sharply backwards. It made him fall into the fence and he hurt his shoulder, the muscles torn and strained. He got up and finished the fight, but afterwards could barely move without pain shooting down his arm. The shoulder was dislocated and Gaius, with the help of Merlin, reset it, making him cry out as the joint slid back into place. 

“Here, take this arnica tincture and have Merlin rub it into your shoulder, twice a day,” Gaius said afterwards, pressing a small, dark glass bottle into Arthur’s hands. 

Merlin, who was standing at Gaius’s side, caught Arthur’s eyes and blushed. It would not do, Arthur decided. 

Once, back in his chambers, reclining in his bed, he thought about his day and wondered what he could do to turn it from bad to good. He asked himself what had changed the other times his day had started out badly but had turned around and nearly gasped aloud when he realised that his days had turned out progressively better after he had had sex with Merlin. So maybe that was what he needed, some good, uncomplicated fun. 

Despite his injured shoulder, he decided to get up and put on his hooded robe, venturing out into the dark courtyard. At the gate, the guards let him through after he lowered his hood for a moment to let them see his face. He hadn’t been at the brothel for quite some time because for some reason, sleeping with random woman didn’t seem to bring him the same guiltless satisfaction as it did his men, but the woman who ran the whorehouse welcomed him warmly and send him upstairs to meet her finest charge, a young woman with honey-colored hair and warm, brown eyes. The girl was pretty and experienced and it was good, satisfying in a way, but Arthur just wasn’t very into it and when he came, it was rather perfunctory. 

He returned without letting himself be pulled in for another round, feeling dissatisfied and tired. His body ached, but not pleasantly so (unlike it had felt after his stint with Merlin in the hay, his mind supplied helpfully), and when he returned to his chambers, he tumbled over a chair in the dark and banged his knee on the cold stone floor. 

He crawled into bed moaning and clutching his knee, not bothering to remove his clothes. His shoulder throbbed and stung, the pain radiating all down his arm and spreading over his shoulder blades. Even though he was completely exhausted, it took him ages to fall asleep, as he tried to find a bearable position. Whenever he closed his eyes, he remembered the soothing phantom touch of Merlin’s hands rubbing arnica oil into his muscles and his body shuddered in remembrance. 

When he finally succumbed to sleep, he slept restlessly, waking briefly every hour or so, hoping that the night would soon be over.

*-*

Arthur was irritated and moody and his awful temper promised to make Merlin’s already bad day hell. For a little while Merlin had thought that his stint of bad luck and dreadful days had finally ceased. For a couple of blessed days, everything seemed fine (maybe with the exception of his relationship with Arthur, which suffered from their ill-advised tack room tryst and had turned terribly awkward), but life was apparently not ready to give Merlin a break and brought with it an onslaught of sick villagers, ruined potions and spells gone wrong. 

He spent a long, awful night attempting to remove black fur from his body, swearing to himself that he never again would cast the cat-sight spell on himself, relieved when the charm had worn off by itself after he woke from a fitful and nervous sleep, rolled up on his cot. The spell had other side-effects, but Merlin refused to give in to the urge to chase a pigeon across the courtyard and was successful in keeping himself from lapping his porridge out of his bowl. 

When he came to wake Arthur that morning, the prince was still asleep, lying face-down in his own drool, his dark-green cloak wrapped around his shoulders, his boots barely off. 

Merlin wrinkled his nose at the sight. Obviously, Arthur had been out, sneaking around the castle on his own and probably getting himself in danger, a thoughtless attack on Merlin’s duties as his protector. 

The thought of Arthur - stupid, thoughtless Arthur - getting himself into trouble made Merlin feel less than favourable towards the other man and it fostered his decision to ultimately bang around as much as possible, pulling open the curtains harshly, clattering with the breakfast platter and stomping through Arthur’s chambers as obnoxiously as possible. It had the desired effect and he couldn’t help but feel satisfied when Arthur woke with a start and flailed for a moment, before tumbling over the edge of the bed. This too had apparently become a pattern, Merlin noted with a rather inconsiderate amount of schadenfreude. 

“Ow,” Arthur muttered softly from somewhere on the floor behind the bed, and Merlin smirked, mollified by the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who had had a terrible night. 

“Good morning!” Merlin said loudly and with as much aggravating cheer as he was able to muster. 

“Oh, get lost,” Arthur growled and pulled himself up with a grunt by use of one of the pillars of the four poster bed. 

Merlin watched him limp over towards the table, where he sank down into a chair with a pained groan, clutching his head. 

“Bad night at the tavern?” Merlin asked gleefully and came to pour some fresh water into Arthur’s cup. He wasn’t a total pillock, after all. 

Arthur huffed and looked at him bleary eyed. “Well, you would know all about that,” he growled and reached for the cup, drinking deeply and emptying it in one go. 

Merlin rolled his eyes, thinking that one of these days he would get Gaius back for making him out to be a complete drunk, who frequently visited The Rising Sun. While Arthur listlessly picked through his breakfast - and what was there to grumble about? He had sweetbread, sausages and fruit! - he busied himself with cleaning up after Arthur, picking up clothing and papers and putting them away. The man was a complete slob. 

Arthur had finished eating, leaving more than half of his breakfast on the plate - which meant Merlin would have a second, royal breakfast later - and was now stumbling over towards the bed, rubbing his injured shoulder. 

“Should I put arnica on your shoulder, Sire?” Merlin heard himself ask dutifully and for a brief moment wondered what in blazes had compelled him to voice that question. Of course, Arthur would agree, and then Merlin had to sit there and awkwardly knead the muscles of Arthur’s back and not think of the fact that he very much wanted to sink his teeth into the juncture where neck met shoulder. He remembered the taste of Arthur’s skin - spicy and salty, and how good Arthur had smelled when Merlin nosed there as he …. Fuck. 

Merlin bit his lip and winced, and for sure, Arthur waved him over wordlessly, sitting down on the bed bleary-eyed. He slipped his tunic off with a stiff posture that spoke of aching muscles. Merlin’s hands were shaking just a tiny bit as he picked up the little flask on Arthur’s nightstand that held the arnica oil. He slathered Arthur’s muscles deliberately and started to massage Arthur’s stiff shoulders, digging his fingers in and resolutely staring at the wooden chest of drawers at Arthur’s bedside, and not at the golden, freckled skin underneath his fingers. 

Arthur exhaled first a sigh, then a small grunt, finally a moan, and Merlin shifted awkwardly and in his head silently listed the 77 ingredients and exact preparation of Gaius’ most successful sleeping draught. It helped - a bit - meaning that he managed to get through the ordeal without doing something incredibly stupid, but when Arthur released him from his duties, he still walked out of the room on wobbly knees and with a rather obvious problem. 

Enough. He should really forget what had happened between them, because it only made things awkward and instead go and find someone to take care of his problem. Maybe it would make his day better, too. 

*-* 

“Gah!” Arthur yelped, clutching his hand and sucking his finger into his mouth, where a small blister was already forming. He had never before burnt his hand on a cup of tea, but there you had it - there was a first time for everything, as they said. 

The girl who had poured his tea from an iron kettle (holding the handle with a cloth) jumped back and looked guilty. “I’m terribly sorry, Sire. I didn’t mean to-”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s all right, it’s not your fault.” 

He watched her put the kettle down hurriedly, then step around the table to come to his side, her long skirts swishing around her figure becomingly. 

“Let me have a look, my Lord,” she requested and before he could protest, she had reached for his wrist and pulled his hand into hers, bending forward and looking at the blister. She studied it, turning his hand this way and that, her small, surprisingly cool fingers soothing. A coy glance before she bent her head again, blowing softly against his skin, her breath shivering over his blistering skin. 

It would be quite easy, Arthur thought, looking down at the golden crown of her head, to take the girl up on her thinly veiled offer. She was certainly pretty enough, with a sweet mouth and creamy skin, and the way she was bending over him, some other qualities were nicely displayed as well, but he didn’t feel a stirring, not even the tiniest speck of desire. Her touch felt clinical, despite the less than demure looks she was giving him. 

He started when the door opened and Merlin entered without knocking, making the girl flinch and draw back quickly. She hurried around the table to gather the kettle again, a rosy flush covering her face. 

“Sire?” Merlin asked, and clearly he had picked up on the tension in the room, because there was a frown on his face, his dark eyebrows pulled together, his lips slightly parted as he waited for Arthur to address him. 

Arthur exhaled slowly, rather relieved that Merlin had interrupted when he had. He sent the flushing girl away with a wave and she bit her lip and, with a last glance at Merlin’s scowl, hastened out the door. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, my lord,” Merlin said, the tone of his voice suggesting that he had no such qualms. 

“You didn’t,” Arthur replied, putting his blistered finger back into his mouth, trying to soothe the sting with his tongue. “She was just leaving.” 

Merlin made a huffing, displeased sound and started to put away the laundry he had with him, banging with drawers and cupboards annoyingly. 

“If you have something to say, say it,” Arthur urged him, already feeling slightly on edge by the mood Merlin had brought with him. 

“I don’t have anything to say,” Merlin muttered and shut the closet door noisily, before striding over to Arthur’s bed where turned the bed down and fluffed the pillows, punching them so hard that single goose feathers escaped the fabric and were starting to float through the air. 

“Oh, please,” Arthur muttered, annoyed. “Don’t you want to tell me that I oughtn’t take advantage of the serving girls?” 

“Why should I?” Merlin asked with a rather insufferable amount of snottiness, his tone belying the indifference his words suggested. 

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed himself up to walk over towards the screen to put on his sleeping attire. 

“I’ve had a terrible day,” he said from behind the screen, shrugging out of his garments and pulling on his night breeches, “I really don’t feel like being sassed at by my incompetent, broody manservant.”

“Well, I had a terrible day as well and I don’t feel like being reprimanded by a royal clotpole,” Merlin shot back, and there it was again, Merlin’s complete and utter insolence and it made Arthur’s blood boil. 

He stepped out from behind the screen and glared at his manservant, who was currently standing by the fireplace and tossing logs into the fire with too much force (it was still getting cold during the night), making the embers flare. 

When Merlin heard his steps he turned around, fists clenched at his side, watching with clearly displayed vexation as Arthur crossed the room with a couple of quick, angry strides. 

Arthur knew what it was he was going to do. “Let’s make it less terrible,” he suggested briskly, but didn’t wait for an answer, instead reached out and fisted his hands into Merlin’s shabby tunic. 

“Thank the Gods,” Merlin breathed, all the anger draining from his face, and then they were kissing, and once again, it was so, so good and Arthur felt his bad mood evaporate under the onslaught of Merlin’s tongue pushing into his mouth. 

They grabbed at each other, Arthur clutching at Merlin’s clothes, Merlin digging his fingers into Arthur’s skin as they stumbled backwards towards the bed where they tumbled down in a tangle of limbs. 

Arthur pulled and pushed Merlin’s shirt over his head, licking his lips at the sight of Merlin above him with his dark hair tousled and his lips parted. He was already hard and the fire the serving girl had missed to ignite in him was now roaring through his veins. 

More clothes went flying and Merlin’s fingers were tripping over his skin, downwards, followed by lips and tongue and teeth and Arthur dipped his head back and all but cried out when Merlin’s mouth found him, urgent and sloppy but experienced, and he spared a moment to feel jealous about that, before he put a hand on Merlin’s head and urged him on. 

He exploded into Merlin’s mouth embarrassingly quickly, then whimpered when Merlin’s fingers, slick with spit and come, pressed into him roughly. He panted all through the hurried preparation, drugged by his own orgasm, cross-eyed and over-sensitive, wincing when Merlin replaced his fingers and shoved into him. 

It was rough for a while and he was reminded of the first time they did this, with Merlin fucking him up against the partition in the tack room, just as immediate and raw and urgent, and Arthur found himself reaching out and drawing Merlin closer, pushing against the sting and the clench of his muscles until they were moving fluidly and every push of Merlin’s hips made him cry out with how good it felt. 

Merlin put his hands on him, then, and Arthur held out for an disconcertingly short time, before he came again, whimpering into Merlin’s neck, tasting sweaty skin and breathing in the firewood and greenery scent of his hair. Above him, Merlin was losing it, cursing a rather expressive string of bawdy words full of praise, and Arthur dug his fingers into Merlin’s bony hips and the soft flesh of his buttocks and let him have it, until he collapsed onto him with a shuddering, long-drawn and heartfelt groan. 

“Mhmm,” Merlin finally huffed into the shell of Arthur’s ear, his hips twitching into him with aftershocks. 

“You think,” Arthur said after a while, still slightly breathless, “this will be enough to improve this day?” 

“The day is almost over,” Merlin muttered and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at Arthur, looking sweaty and ruffled, his hair in wild disarray where Arthur’s fingers had clutched and pulled. “Also, sex makes everything better.” He paused and scowled. “Well. Mostly,” he amended, an adorable wrinkle creasing his nose. 

Adorable?, Arthur thought, temporarily feeling disgusted with himself. His manservant wasn’t adorable. Agitating, yes. Aggravating. Annoying, yes. Never adorable. He wasn’t sure he agreed with Merlin, though. He hadn’t felt better after sleeping with the whore. Only exhausted and dirty. 

He cleared his throat, shifting his hips and stifling a moan at the feel of Merlin still inside him. He should probably push him off, but it actually felt good, exciting. Merlin gave a slow grind of his hips, and that felt even better. 

“Uhm…” Arthur said eloquently, but couldn’t find the words, because Merlin was looking at him, his eyes dark and intense and then he moved his hips again, and how was he still hard to do that? 

Arthur bit his lips and held Merlin’s gaze, feeling a shiver course through his body. Merlin exhaled a sigh and leaned down, pressing their mouths together, initiating a soft, wet kiss, sloppy and noisy. It should have been annoying, but there was the way Merlin’s hips ground into his again, and Arthur gasped, pushing back. 

Merlin commenced rolling his hips into him slowly, kissing him just as gently, and a wave of aroused drowsiness washed over Arthur. He felt like drowning, his body aching pleasantly with overstimulation. He reached out and gripped Merlin’s hips, feeling warm skin and muscle over sharp bones. For a while, Merlin kept up the soft gentle press of his hips, before he grew bolder, rewarding every gasp from Arthur’s mouth with a harder thrust until he was snapping his hips into him again. 

“Oh, fuck,” Arthur breathed out, clutching at Merlin’s back, fingers digging into warm flesh and eliciting hot and sharp grunts from Merlin’s mouth. 

Merlin was panting, his eyes wild and his hair impossibly tussled and Arthur had never seen him like this before, his expression both savage (his burning gaze, the scowl on his brow) and tender (the plush, soft set of his parted mouth). 

He watched in fascination as Merlin lost it again, body bowing and trembling, an expression of pained bliss on his flushed face, whispering his name desperately, before he collapsed on him, a heaving, panting mess of warm limbs. 

When Merlin finally moved, he did so gingerly, but still Arthur winced when he slipped from his body. He was still hard, his cock lying heavily on his stomach, but he didn’t feel an urgent need to come. Merlin was blushing fiercely, maybe with embarrassment, but he didn’t hesitate to reach for him, curling his long fingers around Arthur’s cock and stroking. It took a couple of perfectly pressured hard strokes with the feel of Merlin’s dark eyes on him and Arthur was grunting softly as he spilled over his belly, hissing in the aftershocks when Merlin bent down to lick up the white fluid painting his belly and chest. 

With a growl he shoved at Merlin’s head, until Merlin relented and flopped over onto his back next to him. They both stared up at the canopy of the bed, their breath quick and loud. Arthur’s body was buzzing with a pleasant tingle in his groin and a dull ache in his belly, his limbs loose and muscles relaxed. He couldn’t remember when he had last been able to come three times in such a short succession, well certainly not since he had been fourteen or fifteen. 

Next to him, Merlin released a shuddering breath and Arthur glanced sideways, snorting a bit when he saw Merlin’s flushed face. 

“I bet tomorrow will be a great day,” Arthur said, surprised at how his voice came out, low and gravelly. 

Merlin snorted and gave a short, rather embarrassed giggle. “We’ll see,” he said, extending his arms over his head, his body stretching out long and lean on Arthur’s white sheets. 

“Pretty sure,” Arthur murmured, feeling sleepiness overcome him slowly. He wondered if he should order Merlin to leave, but he was growing rapidly more tired and he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t really care that much, either. He reached out and tugged at his bedspread, uncoordinatedly pulling it up over his slowly cooling body. 

He felt Merlin shift next to him, thought “I could tell him to stay”, but before he could bring his lips to move he was already slipping away into sleep. 

Arthur woke to an empty bed and the sun filtering through a small gap between the drawn curtains. Outside, he could hear someone - probably Merlin - move around the room, a chair scraping, a plate being gently set down. With a yawn, Arthur stretched, waiting for his body to signal its displeasure with having to wake up, surprised when he only felt a rather pleasant soreness, akin to the feeling of having exercised his body well. His shoulder didn’t throb with pain, only feeling a little stiff. 

He sat up and pushed one of the curtains aside, forcing himself to suppress the delight he felt when he spotted Merlin, dressed in his usual garb putting about his chambers. 

“Good morning, Sire!” Merlin grinned when he saw that he was up. “It’s a beautiful day, perfect weather. You should go for a ride.”

Arthur yawned again and slowly swung his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes and shook his head. “I have this meeting…” he murmured sleepily. 

“Oh,” Merlin said, his smile growing even wider, “it’s rescheduled. For later in the day.” 

“Well,” Arthur said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice, “that’s unexpected but pleasant news.” 

“It is!” Merlin affirmed cheerfully, placing a fresh set of clothes on Arthur’s folding screen. 

It should have been strange being naked in front of Merlin, considering last night’s events, but it wasn’t and Arthur slowly moved over to the paravent and started to dress himself, listening to Merlin, dishing out the latest castle gossip. 

“... and really, you know how much Cook likes her mint for cooking, so…” 

Arthur grinned and thought of being outside on his horse, riding through the sunshine without a care in the world. It was promising to be a great day. 

*-* 

“Uff - get off me, can’t breathe,” Merlin huffed, shoving weekly at Arthur’s shoulder, relieved when the other man finally rolled off and settled on the stone floor next to him. Beside them, the fireplace was casting warm light on Arthur’s skin, making it look golden and impossible soft. Merlin watched a drop of sweat roll down the side of Arthur’s neck, following its descent to the hollow of his collarbone with his eyes. 

Arthur heaved out a happy sigh and stretched, his toes curling, fingers flexing. “I told you, we just have to keep having sex and the day is going to be perfect.” 

Merlin snorted and wiped his sweaty hair from his forehead. “I’m not sold yet. It could very well be a coincidence.” He didn’t add that he didn’t mind all the glorious sex. Not at all. He hadn’t minded this morning in the woods, after Arthur had taken him out for a ride and then, during a pause, had sucked him off in a meadow. He hadn’t minded in the afternoon, when he had accosted Arthur after his meeting and shoved him into an alcove in a deserted corridor to repay the favour. And he certainly hadn’t minded just now, when after having finished stoking the fire in Arthur’s chamber, Arthur had pushed him up against the wall, yanked his breeches down, turned him to face the wall and spread his ass with fingers and tongue. 

“We just might have to continue doing it,” Arthur said teasingly, and Merlin chanced a glance to see Arthur look at him, a smirk twisting up the corners of his mouth. His mouth looked generous, inviting, and Merlin bit his lips and looked away, not wanting to seem greedy in his need to kiss Arthur again. He suppressed the urge and instead reached for a discarded tunic, wiping away the stickiness on his stomach. 

When he didn’t give an answer, Arthur shrugged and stretched again, arms overhead, revealing the soft down of his armpits, yawning in satisfaction. Merlin felt an answering yawn tug at his mouth and he gave into it, hearing Arthur laugh softly. 

“We should get up from the floor,” Arthur suggested and with a swift motion got to his feet, an elegant roll of powerful muscles. Merlin followed much more clumsily, banging a knee on the floor in the process. He started to reach for his clothes, unable to look at Arthur now that their tryst was over for the evening. 

A hand reached out and settled on his forearm, stalling him in the process of putting on his tunic. “Stay.” The words were spoken softly but without hesitation. 

When Merlin looked up, followed the line of Arthur’s arm up to his shoulder, then over his neck to meet his eyes, Arthur was looking at him with a strangely soft expression.

“This way you won’t be late tomorrow. And we can do this again before the day begins. Make sure it’s going to be brilliant.” 

Merlin shrugged and nodded at Arthur’s reasoning. He could get some of the spare blankets and take the extra pillows from Arthur’s bed and roll up in front of the fireplace. It would certainly be warm, probably warmer than in his chambers. 

“I’ll just get some blankets to spread out,” he suggested, awkwardly tossing his tunic over a chair, feeling Arthur’s eyes on his skin all the way over towards the cupboard. It was weird walking stark naked through Arthur’s chambers, like he was doing something forbidden and illicit. He wondered what Arthur thought about his body, if he thought him gangly and coltish. 

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Arthur asked, sounding a little amused and a lot confused. 

“Err…” Merlin started, turning back towards Arthur in the middle of retrieving a new blanket from the cupboard, “getting a blanket?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur snorted mockingly, coming towards him with a few quick strides. Watching Arthur stalk towards him naked and being equally undressed made Merlin aware of the uncommon situation they were in and it brought a hot flush to his face. 

Arthur stopped in front of him and captured his wrists, pulling gently. “Come to bed,” he said in that same soft voice he had used before, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he pulled Merlin over towards the large bed and down onto the sheets. 

Swallowing, Merlin allowed himself to be tugged down, biting his lips as Arthur started to rearrange the blankets over both of them, before extinguishing the candle on the nightstand. The light from the fireplace was casting soft shadows on Arthur’s face as he settled and Merlin watched, hesitant to move. Now that they weren’t having sex, it felt impossible to imagine that they had touched so easily, so passionately just half a candlemark ago. He lay underneath the blankets stiffly, breathing flatly through his nose, Arthur’s scent invading his senses. It felt intimate, almost too intimate, lying this close to him in the darkness, naked. 

Merlin started at the touch of warm skin on his arm, and he watched as Arthur trailed his fingers up the skin of Merlin’s exposed arm, over his shoulder, stroking the side of his neck only to find purchase in his hair. Arthur wrapped a lock of Merlin’s hair around his fingers, playing with it, a weirdly content smile on his lips. Merlin swallowed and averted his eyes, unsure of what to make from the unusual display of intimacy. 

“This is nice, having someone beside me,” Arthur murmured, his voice low and private, his finger still wrapped into Merlin’s curls. “When I was younger, but well after I had a nursemaid, I used to crawl into Morgana’s bed to not feel so lonely at night. We would stay awake and whisper until one of us was too exhausted and fell asleep.” 

He sounded wistful, and Merlin shifted his head on the pillow, looking at Arthur’s face so close in the semi-darkness. 

“If you wanted a bed warmer, I’m pretty sure you could have anyone you wanted,” was what came out of Merlin’s mouth and he inwardly chastised himself for saying that. He felt confused by Arthur’s closeness, by the strange, confidential night time mood they found themselves in. 

Arthur only laughed. “It’s not a bed warmer I want,” he said rather fondly, clearly not angered by Merlin’s incautious words. 

Merlin shrugged. “I only ever had my own bedroom here in Camelot,” he offered. “I consider it the greatest luxury of living in the castle.”

“Some privacy, eh?” Arthur grinned suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows and with his free hand, jostling Merlin’s side. The fingers of the other hand were still wrapped into his hair. 

“That too,” Merlin said, feeling himself blush. 

“One of these days you have to show me how you do it to yourself,” Arthur mused, and Merlin sucked in a breath at his next words. “I wonder, do you do it slow and teasing? Or quick and rough? Do you put your fingers inside yourself?” 

“Wouldn’t you want to know…” Merlin whispered, but his voice was waverly and he caught Arthur’s triumphant grin out of the corner of his eyes. 

Arthur was silent for a bit, and Merlin listened to his breath slowing down. 

“I want to know. But so much more,” Arthur suddenly said and he sounded strangely pensive, the teasing quality gone from his voice, replaced by a baffling honesty. “I want to know - like, what you do when you have some time off? What kind of books you read when you go bother Geoffrey of Monmouth in the library. Who taught you to read and write, anyway? What do you think about my uncle? Do you think Morgana’s sleep problems will go away with time? In your opinion, will I ever be worthy to succeed my father?” 

Merlin’s heart started beating faster again, this time for a different reason. “That’s rather a lot you want to know, Arthur,” he said softly, but when Arthur didn’t immediately answer, he bit his lip and smiled. 

“I like to read, yes. Or go for a walk in the woods. I practice juggling, because it keeps my fingers nimble.” At this, Arthur laughed and looked mock-impressed. Merlin grinned and swatted at Arthur’s arm, before continuing. “I read all kinds of books, but a lot of them are medical. Or Greek treatises. My mother taught me - she was taught by her great-grandfather, who was a scholar in the service of the former King of Essetir. And if you want my opinions on your uncle or Morgana’s sickness, I will relate them when we’re not both tired and close to sleep. But let me say one more thing…” He paused, finally reaching out and placing his hand on Arthur’s skin, watching his thumb stroke Arthur’s pectorals, “your reign will surpass Uther Pendragon’s and your people will find you a just and wise king.”

“You think greatly of my future accomplishments,” Arthur murmured sleepily. 

“I do,” Merlin said simply. 

Arthur was silent, his fingers resuming the curling of Merlin’s hair. “I feel safe with you,” he finally said, the confession coming out with a sigh, and Merlin’s heart skipped another beat. He didn’t know what to answer to that, so he kept silent. 

Arthur seemed to have revealed enough, too, because his fingers slowed in their movement and just another couple of moments later, Arthur’s breathing had turned regular and even. When Merlin turned to look at him again, Arthur’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed, his fingers still loosely curled around Merlin’s lock of hair. 

Merlin exhaled shakily, taking in the well-known angles of Arthur’s face, softened by sleep and the last flickers of firelight from the fireplace across the room. He looked younger, almost like the boy Merlin had first encountered years ago, and untroubled. Merlin’s heart swelled with a sudden awareness of fondness, a feeling that clogged his chest and made it hard to breathe. He knew that feeling, but he usually kept it carefully hidden away, and most of the time, Arthur’s pratishness was very well equipped to keep the feeling at bay. The feeling stood no chance when confronted with this soft, considerate version of Arthur, with this man who could take Merlin apart with touches both urgent and gentle. The man who had decided it was a good idea for them to keep having sex, because it was uncomplicated and brought them joy and didn’t mean a damn thing. 

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Merlin pulled his knees up and settled on his side, careful not to jostle Arthur in his sleep. He would just take what Arthur was offering and once Arthur had enough and found pleasure in other people, Merlin would just deal with it, go back to loving Arthur from afar. The thought hurt, but it was the only feasible option. He couldn’t stay away, not when Arthur so clearly desired him, even if it was just for scratching an itch. When this was over, he would at least have his memories, like the one he was making now - lying next to Arthur in the warm cocoon of Arthur’s blankets, listening to his soft breaths, the phantom ache of Arthur inside him making his body feel slow and sleepy. 

*-* 

Merlin was there when he woke, with his dark, tousled hair and pale skin, his thick, long lashes resting on his cheeks, his lush mouth slack and slightly parted. He followed the lines of Merlin’s torso with his eyes, observing every dip of Merlin’s body, the hollow at this throat, the slight rise of his pectoral muscles, the tiny nubs of pale pink dusted with a scattering of hair. His eyes caressed the place where Merlin’s ribs protruded a bit too prominently before his conture dropped sharply towards his flat belly, then pursued the densening trail of dark hair that led to his groin. Arthur suppressed a sigh at the sight, because Merlin sure looked beautiful lying in his bed, all long limbs and slim, elegant muscles. 

Beautiful. The thought gave him pause. Merlin was many things and Arthur had considered him to be many things, but beautiful hadn’t been one of them - or had it? He frowned, scowling at the perfect, soft-looking skin on Merlin’s abdomen, disliking how he felt his hand itch to reach out to touch. He remembered the taste of Merlin’s skin there, slightly salty and musky, remembered breathing in Merlin’s scent as he smothered his face into Merlin’s stomach. A hot shiver of want raced through his body when he thought of doing it again, of kissing his way down Merlin’s chest and stomach to his groin. 

Why was it so good with Merlin of all people? The thought returned once more, making him feel baffled. 

His pondering was interrupted when Merlin sucked in a startled breath, his eyes flying open as if he had noticed that Arthur was watching him in his sleep. For a moment Merlin looked alarmed, then he exhaled an amused sigh and sank back into the pillows. 

“You’re not going to kick me out right away, will you?” he asked, his voice gravelly and sleep rough. 

“Don’t be silly,” Arthur muttered, and finally, now with Merlin being awake, he dared to reach out and touch, his finger trailing a path down Merlin’s body, making Merlin twitch and bite his lips. 

“What do you want?” Merlin’s eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, and his eyes followed the trail of Arthur’s fingers, his voice calm, almost seductive. It was clear what he meant. 

“You,” Arthur breathed, surprised by the shiver in his voice, “on your knees, clawing at my bed clothes. While I fuck you,” he added hoarsely, almost as an afterthought. 

Merlin exhaled a curse and pushed himself up on his elbows, bringing their faces close together. “Please,” he whispered, his breath shivering over Arthur’s face for just a moment, before he curled the fingers of one hand in Arthur’s hair and pulled, pressing their mouths together. 

They kissed in a frenzy, Merlin’s hands ripping at the strands of Arthur’s hair, his tongue invading Arthur’s mouth, teeth nipping at Arthur’s lips. They broke apart panting and with a hand on Merlin’s hips, Arthur turned him around, watching mesmerized as Merlin rose to his knees, his ass pushed upwards. 

Arthur prepared him with spit and fingers, then watched himself inch inside slowly, Merlin’s back bowed, the knobs of his spine standing out in stark relief, his shoulders bunched, huffing through the pain, his fingers digging into the pillow. Merlin’s body was heaving beneath him as he settled, his face flushed as he pressed it into the sheets, his mouth wetly parted. He looked gorgeous and when Arthur moved, Merlin’s body rolled with it, the counter move to an attack. 

They found a rhythm, a slow, deep, undulating rhythm and with every thrust of Arthur’s hips, Merlin made another broken sound, vulnerable and loud in the stillness of the morning. Arthur loved those sounds, couldn’t deny that they made his blood run hotter still. He pressed a sloppy kiss against Merlin’s spine, just where neck met shoulders, and Merlin turned his head and looked at him, eyes lidded, his expression far gone. They kissed like this, not a pleasant angle, but perfect in its own right, and Arthur marvelled at the fluid movement of their bodies where they were joined. Merlin was tight and hot around him and he lost himself in the kisses and the fucking and the early-morning laziness of the experience. 

Much too soon, his body demanded a harder tempo, and Arthur backed off and pulled at Merlin’s hips until Merlin turned over, looking feverish and sweaty, his cock lying darkly flushed against his stomach. He allowed Merlin to reach for him and pull him back down and with a groan of bliss he slid back inside, marvelling how good Merlin’s body felt, beneath him, around him. Merlin slung his legs around the back of Arthur’s cals, pressing their bodies hard together, raising his hips to meet his from below, his fingers curling around Arthur’s neck, their foreheads pressed together. Merlin’s mouth again, warm and wet, and they kissed until both of them gasped for air, until Merlin’s body seized and he cried his release into Arthur’s mouth, shuddering apart. 

Arthur followed shortly after, unable to withstand the clench of Merlin’s muscles. 

He came to Merlin stroking his hair almost absentmindedly and it felt… nice and weird, so he shook him off and pulled out of his body, making Merlin wince and grimace. 

“Well,” he said, knowing he was still sounding a bit breathless, “that was fun. Bet another great day awaits.” 

It sounded dumb even to his own ears, but Merlin was watching him with his big, blue eyes, looking thoroughly debauched and very kissable, and Arthur wanted very much to kiss him again and nuzzle his neck and pet his sweaty hair and it just wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t. He had revealed too much about what he thought of Merlin’s friendship last night already. It wasn’t like he was in love with Merlin. They were not in love. Just… something. Something with benefits. 

Merlin’s jaw tightened and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, looking constipated for a moment, before he nodded, a smile replacing his earlier expression. “Then we’ll better get ready. For that great day,” he said and pushed himself up and out from underneath Arthur. Arthur experienced a strange mix of relief and disappointment as he watched Merlin walk over to where his discarded clothes still lay. With a sigh, Arthur dropped his head back into the pillows, watching as Merlin pulled on his clothes, silently hating on every bit of clothing that covered up Merlin’s perfect skin. 

*-* 

For the next couple of days, a pattern established itself. Merlin woke in Arthur’s bed to the touch of Arthur’s hands on him, insatiable and insistent. After, they commenced with their usual duties, Merlin fulfilling his daily tasks as both manservant to the Prince and assistant to the court physician. In the evening, instead of leaving after readying the prince for bed - or what amounted to readying the prince for bed these days - he stayed in Arthur’s chambers rather than return to his own. Inbetween going after his usual tasks, much was different these days. 

There were the times he and Arthur snuck off to somewhere private - and sometimes only semi-private - , apparently unable to keep their hands off each other. There were secret glances and playful grins. Once, the feeding of breakfast in bed, which ended with raspberry preserve smeared all over Arthur’s sheets. They did things with and to each other Merlin had never before done or never thought about doing. He couldn’t comprehend how it had escalated so quickly, how Arthur’s body had become an extension of his own in such a short time. 

There were amicable moments too, mostly in the dark, after they had exhausted themselves and their bodies and before they fell asleep, spent with gentle touches or quiet talk. Merlin cherished them most, floored by the depth of feeling these moments would evoke in him, honoured by the trust Arthur put into him by revealing one secret of his heart after the other. 

Merlin became used to the steady presence of Arthur when he slept, to the touch of Arthur’s gentle fingers tracing his lips, to the sweaty heat of his muscled body against his. He had never felt so close to him before, even when - against all odds - he had considered Arthur his best friend. 

Even while he enjoyed every moment, he knew it couldn’t, wouldn’t last, because Arthur would tire off him, would find out that it wasn’t sleeping with Merlin that influenced Arthur’s days for the better. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when it happened, when they days turned sour again and nothing, no touch of Merlin’s hands, no quick and dirty love making between council sessions, no making out in the armoury before a tournament could help turn their luck around. 

“I don’t understand,” Arthur muttered one evening, his body heavy where he had collapsed on Merlin after a rather spectacular and desperate fuck, his breath shivering over the heated skin of Merlin’s neck. 

Merlin swallowed soundly, thinking, This, this is the moment, right there. He didn’t offer an answer, wanting Arthur to come to his own conclusion. 

“It should work,” Arthur whispered, his lips moving underneath Merlin’s jaw. “Everything was going well. Now it doesn’t. No matter how often we do it.” 

Biting his lips, Merlin turned his head and closed his eyes, not wanting Arthur to see the pain on his face. When he didn’t respond to Arthur nosing his skin, Arthur pulled away and dropped over onto his back. He couldn’t blame Arthur for his superstition, couldn’t mock him for his naivete. There were much more unbelievable and inexplicable things in this world than conjuring a stroke of good luck by sleeping with someone. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered, hating how his voice sounded thick and hurt. 

Arthur didn’t answer and Merlin took it as his clue to push himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

“What are you doing?” 

Arthur’s voice sounded strangely alarmed and Merlin felt Arthur shift on the bed behind him, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

“Going back to my room. Obviously, this doesn’t work any more, right? I mean, we can put a stop to this little arrangement.” He knew he sounded petulant, but he had to mask his hurt somehow and everything was better than allowing Arthur to hear the truth behind his feelings. 

“Arrangement?” Arthur asked tonelessly, an unmoving presence hovering just behind Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin shrugged and started to reach for his clothes, slipping his feet into his breeches hastily. 

“I’m sorry to have bothered you so,” Arthur said from behind him after a long pause, sounding a bit shaky. “I was under the impression it was mutual. Our arrangement.” 

Merlin suppressed a hurtful snort, even though it was his own fault, because he had accepted what Arthur now called an arrangement, if only to not have it end. He got to his feet quickly, fastening the drawstrings of his breeches, then reached for his tunic, slipping it on quickly, before bending down to stuff his feet into his shoes, sans socks. 

He didn’t know what to say to Arthur. He felt the fool, the willing fool, who had known that disaster waited at the end of his actions, but who couldn’t have stopped himself anyway.

His jacket lay in a heap on the floor where Arthur had brushed it off his shoulders just earlier and he shook it out and slipped it on, then stuffed his socks and handkerchief into his pockets. When he at last turned around to face Arthur, Arthur had reclined back onto his bed, an arm flung over his face. 

“Good night, my lord,” Merlin said, the formal address sounding strange on his tongue. 

It took Arthur ages to answer and he didn’t lift his arm from his face, breathing quietly and steadily, his chest rising and falling. He finally said, sounding just as proper, “Good night, Merlin,” and Merlin knew it was his cue to leave. He stumbled out of Arthur’s quarters, relieved when the heavy oak door closed behind him, his gaze already blurring with tears. He sniffled, wiping his leaking, traitorous eyes into the worn leather of his jacket, then took a deep breath.

It was better this way - the inevitable had come, now they could go on with their lives. He suddenly felt exhausted and he barely made it back to his room, where he collapsed onto his narrow cot - less comfortable than ever before after getting used to the Prince’s soft, wide bed. He lay awake for a long time, his eyes itching, his chest tight, mind numb, until finally, fatigue pulled him under and sleep took him, mercifully so. 

*-* 

Arthur’s days were dreadful and long and empty. Bad things did happen and good things did happen, sometimes more of one sort than the other, but the quiet misery that permeated each and every one of Arthur’s moments stayed the same. From an outside perspective, nothing much had changed. He went through his days, trained with the knights, suffered through boring council meetings, mind-numbing and frustrating negotiations and fights with his father. He had breakfast and dinner. He went for rides. He went on hunts. 

Merlin fulfilled his duties, nothing more, nothing less. He came to wake him and brought him his breakfast. He prepared his clothes and helped him into his armour. He arranged his day-to-day business and proof-read his speeches. He served at the high table with full attention. He tidied his rooms, stoked the fire in the fireplace and made his bed. He was the perfect manservant. They had nothing to say to each other and because Merlin gave Arthur nothing to complain about, Arthur couldn’t even fall back on calling him out on his shortcomings. 

Summer arrived and with it better times. There was food aplenty and the news from throughout the kingdom were consistently good. The warm weather drew royal visitors to Camelot and one feast followed the next. Entertainment was in full supply - Camelot hadn’t seen as many minstrels, jugglers and acrobats in a long time. By all accounts, Arthur’s life should have been perfect. It wasn’t. 

It didn’t take him long to realise what was wrong. It was fairly simple to figure out, but nothing seemed simple about solving the problem. He missed Merlin. 

True, Merlin was around him every day, was the first face he saw in the morning when he woke up and the last face he saw before he closed his eyes. But the person who laid out his clothes in the morning, who brought his breakfast and cleared away his clutter could have been anyone. Merlin, who usually was a chatterbox and never tired of letting Arthur know what he really thought of him, had somehow become just another of the many servants that frequented Camelots halls, silently and efficiently doing his duties. Arthur desperately hoped for a slip of Merlin’s composure, for Merlin’s usual clumsiness to cause a problem, anything, so he could address him with something other than a request or an order. 

Nothing happened. Nothing. And the days passed and Merlin was like a ghost, always on the edge of Arthur’s awareness but never close enough to engage with, never close enough to touch. 

Slowly, gradually, Arthur came to understand that Merlin wouldn’t make a move to reduce the distance between them and that just time wouldn’t heal the wounds inflicted on their relationship, that whatever they had shared this spring had ruined everything they had had before. 

It had been another good day - good news, good food, good training, good company. It had been another unremarkable day. Merlin was putting away the laundry while Arthur sat at his table, attempting and failing to write a letter to their friends in the South, his eyes drawn again and again towards where Merlin was folding his tunics into square, surprisingly even shapes. Arthur could very well remember when Merlin had shoved his clothes carelessly into the closet, banging the door twice to make sure the pile of cloth stayed put. 

His mouth felt dry and he wetted his lips, fighting to bring up the courage to address Merlin. When his voice finally rang out, it was much too loud and he sounded hoarse. 

“Merlin, please come here.” 

Startled, Merlin slowly folded the tunic he was holding and placed it in the cupboard, before turning around, keeping his eyes downcast as he walked towards the table. He stopped a few feet away, his hands folded behind his back, eyes carefully trained somewhere ahead and to Arthur’s right. Arthur hated that he didn’t look at him. 

“Please,” he said, indicating the other chair at the table, “sit down.” 

“I’d rather stand, Sire,” Merlin said stubbornly, refusing to really look at him, his expression blank, displaying a glimpse of his usual mulishness. 

Arthur sighed and bit his lip, then decided he wouldn’t sit here to say what he needed to say while Merlin stood above him. He slowly got to his feet, saw the brief flinch on Merlin’s face at the scrape of the chair on the stone floor, feeling bitter when Merlin’s eyes, which had shortly rested on him slid back to staring somewhere over his right shoulder, as if Merlin expected to be punished. 

Arthur slowly walked around the table and came to stand next to Merlin, noticing with painful clarity how Merlin shifted slightly away from him, his posture growing stiff. 

“I can’t go on like this,” he said softly, surprised when his words got a reaction out of Merlin, whose head whipped around, Merlin’s eyes finally, finally on him, wide-eyed and surprised.

“I understand I ruined our friendship and you must know how truly, truly sorry I feel about it,” he continued, holding Merlin’s gaze despite every fibre of his body telling him to look away, to stop talking, to get out of here. Still he kept talking, rather wanting this to be over for good than having to suffer any more of it. “But… I can’t have you continue being my manservant without you being my friend. I’d rather relieve you from my service, if you so wish.” 

Merlin was staring at him now for what felt like the first time in weeks and it gave him a thrill to have Merlin’s undivided attention. With slight annoyance he noted that his cheeks turned warm. He was scared, he realised. Scared of Merlin’s reaction. 

“You have my friendship,” Merlin finally said, his voice sounding pained and raw. “You never lost it. It’s… it’s yours, if you want it.”

Even while a heavy weight seemed to slowly lift from his chest, Arthur couldn’t quite help the disbelieving cough that croaked from his throat. “Yes. Surely felt like it.” 

Merlin licked his lips, his eyes frantic as he shook his head. “I… No. I’m sorry. I thought…” 

Interrupting Merlin’s stammering with a sigh, Arthur took a step back, giving Merlin more space. “I miss you. I miss being your friend,” he said, feeling vulnerable and broken open. 

Merlin made a distressed sound, looking pained, his hands clenched into fists at his side, his whole body coiled as if for a fight. “I miss being your friend, too,” he whispered, and a wave of emotion shivered through Arthur, bringing with it a mixture of relief and pain. 

He exhaled a shaky sigh and wiped a hand over his eyes, knowing this wasn’t everything he needed to say. He dropped his hand back to rest against the top of his thigh, ignoring its tremble and steeled himself, finding the courage to speak, catching Merlin’s pained gaze.

“It’s better with you, Merlin. The bad days. And also the good days. And all the days inbetween. Everything’s better with you.” 

Merlin made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and then he was there, all but flinging himself in Arthur’s arms, warm skin and sharp angles. 

“You clotpole,” he exhaled and Arthur could feel Merlin’s wide grin against the side of his neck. His body relaxed, his muscles untensing as he slid his own arms around Merlin’s back, holding him close, breathing in the scent of Merlin’s hair. 

It was enough, he thought, his heart feeling finally soothed. This was good. It was a good day. 

*-* 

Three weeks later.

“I can’t believe he fell for it!” Arthur burst out laughing when the door to Arthur’s chambers closed behind them. “That was brilliant, Merlin!”

Merlin couldn’t help the pleased smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth at Arthur’s praise and hilarity and he slumped against the closed door next to Arthur, trying to catch his breath, the excitement of their successful deception making his heart beat wildly. 

“I didn’t know you were such a gifted actor,” Arthur exclaimed appreciatively. “If I had known, I would have asked you to save me from boring meetings much sooner!” His eyes were sparkling with joy and there was something very gleeful about him, which made Merlin think that Arthur likely had never played a trick on his father before in his life. 

With a satisfied shrug, as if to say, I’m glad I’m still able to surprise you, Merlin pushed himself away from the door, walking towards the table where a pitcher of wine and several cups waited on a silver platter. He poured a cup for Arthur, then decided he very much deserved a drink himself for executing a successful prank on the King himself and poured another cup. Surely, Arthur wouldn’t mind. When he turned around, both cups in his hands, he started to find Arthur stand close behind him. 

“Here,” he stammered, pressing one of the cups into Arthur’s hands, then carefully took a step back, putting some distance between them. Even though their friendship had recovered, too close proximity still made Merlin nervous, reminded him of what they had done during those two insane weeks where he had shared Arthur’s bed. 

Arthur didn’t seem to register Merlin’s nervousness, because he smiled, his face flushed and happy. He took a sip from his cup, then walked over to the large window, opening the casements to allow the cool night air to get inside. 

“Come, join me,” he suggested, and Merlin’s heart skipped a beat at the way Arthur was leaning with his elbows on the window sill and glancing at him over his shoulder, looking relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, his stance wide, hips canted. 

Merlin suppressed a soft sigh, then slowly walked over towards the window to join Arthur. The night air smelled fresh and invigorating after the stuffy, used-up air of the great hall. Outside the window, the courtyard lay silent and in darkness. Beyond the gates, the occasional light from a window in the lower town lit up the dark. 

“You’re actually missing out on the best view,” Merlin commented, leading his cup to his lips and taking a sip from the heady, red wine. Usually, the wine was heavily mulled with water, but not so this batch - it tasted rich and fruity and coated his tongue like velvet. 

“I am?” Arthur said questioningly and turned to look at Merlin, amusement colouring his voice. 

“The view from my window is much nicer. You can see towards the lower town really well. It’s especially nice at night, with all the lit fires twinkling like stars. When I first came to Camelot, I spent hours staring out my window. It is such a beautiful sight.” 

“It is? Huh,” Arthur snorted, quirking his lips at Merlin. “Then I should request a move, shouldn’t I? So I get the best view.” 

Merlin laughed, enjoying Arthur’s teasing mood, his grin and eyes full of mirth. “Well, the rest of the accommodation is shit, though. Small chambers. Tiny window. Rickety furniture. Hooks on a wall instead of a cupboard. And your bed is definitely more comfortable.” 

Once the words were out, he blushed furiously, desperately wanting to take them back and he hid his face by leading the cup to his lips once more. The way he was going, he ought to be terribly drunk in a short while. 

“Hmm,” Arthur said and his gaze flickered over to the bed, almost thoughtfully, before looking back at Merlin, his eyes having turned a darker shade of blue. It made Merlin shiver. “I’m still willing to offer a switch, so you can have the comfy bed for the night and I the beautiful view,” Arthur said contemplatively.

He still sounded like he was teasing, but there was an undercurrent in Arthur’s tone and gaze that made Merlin aware of how close they were standing, how Arthur was slightly turned towards him. It gave him the courage to say what he was saying next. 

“Your bed without you in it would only be half the thrill.” 

Arthur lowered his cup without taking a sip, looking at Merlin with contemplation. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he asked, and his voice was low and rough and it shivered down Merlin’s spine like a caress. 

“If that’s what you want me to say, yes,” Merlin said bravely, holding Arthur’s stare. 

Arthur’s mouth twitched and there was red creeping up the side of his face, staining his cheeks crimson. Merlin watched, as Arthur put his cup down, then took Merlin’s cup from his hands, placing both of them on the window sill. His hand reached out, fingers sliding against Merlin’s, making him start and look up and bite his lips at the intensity of Arthur’s eyes on him. 

The smile on Arthur’s lips was small, uncertain. Arthur lifted his other hand and slowly brushed his thumb over Merlin’s lips, a soft caress that made Merlin’s mouth drop open with sudden want. He sucked in a sharp breath and watched as Arthur’s hesitant smile blossomed and took over his whole face. “I guess that means you’re coming to bed with me,” he whispered, the fingers of his left hand tightening on Merlin’s. 

Merlin could neither help the fond roll of his eyes, nor the answering stupid smile. 

“I guess,” he said teasingly, allowing Arthur to pull him over towards the four-poster bed. “After all, this too, is better with you.” 

He didn’t feel bad when he smothered Arthur’s laughter with a kiss.

The End 

I'm nuttersinc on Tumblr, if you want to follow my ramblings:[nuttersinc.tumblr.com](http://nuttersinc.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> *-*  
> This was the original **Prompt by mega_mathi:**
> 
> Au after Lancelot. Lancelot doesn't leave and he and Gwen are very happy together. Arthur is a bigger prat then usual, especially to Merlin, who is at the receiving end of most his anger. After one particularly bad fight, they have angry sex. The thing is, they find both of them have totally excellent days immediately afterwards. Even their skills have improved. They try to sleep with someone else to see if the same effects happen, but it doesn't work, so they enter into a strictlg FwB relationship. They have lots and lots of sex, and their life continues to be excellent. Best of all there's no feelings involved at all. Absolutely none! Arthur especially doesn't care! He's not jealous of Gwaine at all. Even if Merlin seems too close to him. Okay maybe he's a little bothered, because Merlin can do better. Okay maybe some feelings might be there after all.


End file.
